Frame 61February 11, 2020

Terry Mason

Frame 61February 11, 2020

“I like working with benign, familiar, mass produced found objects and remaking them. Incorporating these objects and altering them, allows for opportunity where significance may not be completely grasped on first examination.”

Interview by Simek Shropshire

Could you tell us a bit about yourself and your background? Where did you study?

I grew up in Claremont, California, a college town in a valley just east of Los Angeles. When I began grade school, it was evident that I didn’t see things in the same way as other kids. I struggled in school and pretty early on I was diagnosed with dyslexia. I found comfort in drawing, which probably served to focus my attention on art. I could spend hours doing an intricate drawing with the minutest detail of every hair on the wart of a witch’s nose and then write my name backwards at the bottom of the page without a clue. A “W” could look upside down or sideways, or one of the lines could disappear and then reappear. Reality was playing tricks on me and I wanted to play with and manipulate it further. In this way dyslexia continues to inform my practice.

After high school, I moved to northern California where I went to college at San Francisco State University. I began my degree with an emphasis in painting but found myself exploring other fields. I eventually took my first sculpture class, which coincided with a contemporary art history class. It was in that art history class where I first learned about Chris Burden’s work. It had a profound effect on my understanding of what art could be. Since then, I have been focused on making objects, sculptures and installations.

After getting my Bachelor of Fine Arts, I worked in different trades from construction to metal fabrication to mold making, along with being a studio assistant to several artists. I like the idea of learning different techniques. Those experiences gave me tools and sharpened my skill set which freed me to imagine with fewer limitations and know that the making part would get sorted out.

I went on to attend graduate school at the California College of the Arts where I earned an MFA in 2000.

I’m currently living and working in Oakland California, where I am a Dad and a husband. My spirit animal is our dog velvet, and I’m passionate about dancing on bikes that don’t go anywhere.

A number of your sculptures, such as the series of electrical receptacles and A cast of the space above my chair, are reminiscent of found objects. These everyday objects are classified as art by the artists who create them, and the social histories of the objects themselves inform their aesthetic value. Regarding your work, how to you consider the visual, emotional, and social associations that exist between the viewer and the object? What position do you occupy as the artist in these relationships?

I like working with benign, familiar, mass produced found objects and remaking them. Incorporating these objects and altering them, allows for opportunity where significance may not be completely grasped on first examination.

These things are all around us and we see them on a daily basis. They are loaded with visual and emotional associations and assumptions. This run of the mill stuff and its connotations become a common point of reference which can create double-take situations. I’m going for that feeling where there’s a momentary struggle in one’s mind between recognizing the familiar and having to come to terms with a deviated version.

With the electrical cover plate series, as with many things I model or cast, they can take quite a long time to create, sometimes weeks or months. Inevitably, I form an intimate relationship with the original object, and I find that after I’ve completed my version of the electrical cover plate, I can no longer see the unaltered version in the same way. I have to laugh at myself when I notice that I’m looking out the corner of my eye for any cover plates in a room.

When I was creating this piece, I was thinking about familiarity and how it influences my assumptions. I’m curious how familiarity and the idea of “knowing” alters my experience of the world. I find it fascinating how each and every one of us inform our own perception uniquely through our history and life experience.

You've stated that your practice is rooted in "life’s fleeting existence and the inescapable consequences of time" however, some of the materials you use, such as urethane and silicone, can survive the consequences of time and remain intact for hundreds of years. Is this juxtaposition between the ontological and material aspects of your work intentional?

When I use archival materials, such as urethane or silicone, they are chosen because they best render the image that I’m looking to create. My choice in material is based on what will make the imagery that embodies the ideas about which I’m thinking. I am attempting to resolve ideas visually in whatever way seems appropriate. But I have to admit, I have a fetish for detail and the surface of things, and on some level, it feels like the surface of the image is making that material choice for me.

There are also instances when the choice is influenced by the conceptual baggage a particular material will bring to the work, especially in situations where I’m emphasizing the juxtaposition between the object and the material, such as a chair made from asphalt, a mattress made of earth, socks made of sweat, or a concrete pillow.

I wouldn’t describe my work through the use of one or two materials. I see a fluidity in how I utilize traditional elements, such as bronze, plastics, steel, wood and nontraditional or ephemeral things such as toilet paper, asphalt, and sweat. I’m always looking to explore new materials and ways of working.

Core Sample (Socks) is a sculpture that caught my attention because of the materials from which it is constructed. You place a pair of gelatin socks, which I assume was made with frozen sweat in place of water, in a freezer unit that resembles a high school locker. Can you elaborate on the creation process of this work, and how it feeds into your investigations of hyper-reality and perception?

Well... creating this work involves a lot of spinning and sweaty t-shirts being rung out into a jar post-workout and then stored in the refrigerator. Don’t worry, it’s well labeled with warning signs. Typically, it takes about 2 months to obtain enough volume of material to cast the socks. I do have a leg up on procuring material, being a profuse sweater. Once I’ve collected enough sweat, I pour it and the gelatin into a mold of socks, place it in a freezer overnight and then remove it from the mold and it quickly goes into the display case, which like you said, is a freezer. This liquid that passes through me and is expelled as a consequence of exertion, this daily purge, I see it as a byproduct of capturing moments in time.

I use the mold making and casting process quite a lot in my work. It allows for an accurate and high level of representation, which I find key to creating the sleight of hand quality for which I’m looking for. I’ve also started using the 3-d scanning process, which I see as a version of the mold making process. I’m fascinated by these techniques because it’s freezing a thing figuratively and literally, in a certain state, suspending it, capturing that object in that instant.

The impetus for this piece came about one morning when I woke up and saw my socks strewn on the floor from the night before. I was struck by the composition created by this unconscious act. I often marvel at what could be considered inconsequential.

This piece also speaks to your last question about using an ordinary “found object”. Something that normally goes unnoticed, almost invisible, is tweaked so that it becomes reconfigured into something that elevates it in some way... just in the fact of giving it attention.

This work along with most of my work has an element of humor and mischief. Often when I’m going through my sketch book of ideas, the ones that make me laugh, grab me. When I experience work that has a sense of humor or a kind of lightness, for me, it elicits an openness to the work.

What artwork have you seen recently that has resonated with you?

I always look out for Ryan Gander’s work. A piece of his that I recently saw that resonated with me was “Portenchoppader”. It’s a collaborative piece with his daughter, which is something I’ve also been doing with my daughter. I like that his work has both a sweetness and trickster quality. He is so adept at connecting the everyday with the esoteric. Also, Sarah Lucas is always on my radar. I’m really attracted to her boldness and how skillfully she uses subversive humor in her work. She doesn’t take herself or too seriously and is open to happenstance.

About the artwork titled ‘Tik Tock’

Dictated by the length of my life as estimated by a life expectancy test, this piece counts down the remainder of my time, The grains of glass below the figure constitute the time that I have lived , while these inside the body, that are slowly being releases, represent the time I have left to live.

How do you go about naming your work?

Nothing is off limits when it comes to naming my work. It can vary from something I’ve come across doing research, song lyrics, movie quotes, pop culture, art history, podcasts, a phrase that might catch my ear in conversation or something my daughter has said. I keep a brainstorming list on my phone, which is my sacred place. If I think of an idea or title, see or hear something inspiring, everything stops and immediately it goes into my notes, often written in a stream of consciousness or just fragments. It can be hit or miss at times… either I’ll find something that works or have the experience of when I used to drink. I would have a brilliant idea and then the next day when I would go to read this crumpled up napkin, I would find nonsense. It’s kind of a win-win situation… I’m either inspired or I’m amused. I’ve used quotes from the movie Bladerunner, lyrics from the band X, and borrowed from the title of Bruce Nauman’s piece “A cast of the space under my chair”.

Is there anything new and exciting in the pipeline you would like to tell us about?

Yes, I’m currently working on a sculpture that is part of a collaborative series. For me, this body of work is a single piece, over time it has and will continue to manifest as a growing number of installations and objects. This project plays to my preoccupation with time. The working title, “transubstantiation observatory”, is an ongoing, time-based system that aims to bring to light both a father and daughters’ developmental phases. The criteria for this project include collaborating with my daughter and executing a single piece every 4 years of our lives together, as long as she wants. She conceptualizes and makes the aesthetic decisions, while I fabricate her vision. As she gets older, I welcome her to participate in the fabrication if there is interest. The possibility may eventually arise that one-day I am unable to fabricate, and maybe we can reverse roles if she is up for it, with me becoming the schemer and her the maker.

I’m curious, as each piece is revealed, how getting older will affect each piece. How will our ongoing relationship affect the work? How will emotional, intellectual and mental maturity inform the project as it advances. Will there be changes that reveal shifts in perception? It’s funny to think about working on such a long-term project and feel excited to look back on the work as an old man.

The two pieces that have been completed so far in this series are “Oh the places you’ll go”, and “How the blue mark got on the ceiling”. Now that she has turned 8, we are in the midst of creating our third collaboration, “We are all just stardust”.

Artist’s website

@terrymasonart

Publish date: 11/02/2020
All Images are courtesy of the artist

Frame 61